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TREV

“What the fuck?” Standing in in my kitchen, I stared at my ex-husband’s face on my phone screen. “You can’t just… drop that on me!”

Bryan gave a sharp shrug. “And you can’t just expect me to live my entire life around your schedule anymore. Enough is enough.”

I raked a hand through my hair and exhaled. “For fuck’s sake…”

“If you want partial custody,” he declared, “then you need to step up. It’s been long enough.”

“Step up?” I glared at him. “I’m doing the best I can. It isn’t like I can ask the League to lighten up my schedule so I?—”

“You can figure it out,” he snapped. “Either lock down some consistent, reliable, in-home childcare while you’re on the road, or I’m petitioning for primary custody.”

And child support, he didn’t say.

“I…” My head was spinning with everything he’d just thrown at me. “You know training camp is in two weeks, right?”

He smirked, adding to the fiery ball of rage in my chest. “Of course I know that.”

Yeah. Of course he fucking did. Since his new piece of ass would also be going to training camp.

I gritted my teeth. “Okay, so you know two weeks isn’t really enough time to find someone, vet them, get them started, make sure?—”

“Figure it out,” he said, “and let me know what you come up with.”

Before I could answer, the call ended.

I very, very nearly hurled my phone across the kitchen, not giving a damn in that moment if it shattered into a thousand pieces. Instead, I dropped it beside the sink and, with a groan, I pressed my elbows into the granite countertop.

I was done. Just so, so goddamned done.

Our divorce had been messy, co-parenting had been a bear, and at every turn it seemed like he wanted to make things worse.

Like he got some thrill out of trying to make me regret divorcing him.

Right, because the divorce was my fault.

Sure, I’d been the one to initiate it, but I wasn’t the one to put my dick where it didn’t belong, take photos and videos, and “accidentally” sync them with the shared cloud.

“Jesus fucking Christ on a Zamboni,” I muttered into the stillness.

I cringed inwardly, fully expecting one of my six-year-olds to pipe up and say, “You said a swear, Dad!”

Neither of them did, though. Because they weren’t here. They were with Bryan this week, and my house would be painfully empty until I picked them up on Tuesday per our custody agreement.

You think I wanted this, Bryan? I scrubbed a hand over my face. You think I enjoy being away from my kids this much?

That was only going to get worse during the hockey season. It always did; being away from them sucked when I was on the road, and now they were gone sometimes when I was at home, too.

And if I don’t appease Bryan, then they might be gone all the time except like one weekend a month.

My blood ran cold.

Bryan wasn’t one to bluff. If I didn’t figure out some kind of in-home childcare solution, he would absolutely be in his attorney’s office, making sure we had to drag our asses back to family court.

The judge last time had already been salty with me over being gone so much throughout the year, but Bryan had assured her that we would make it work during the regular season, then resume a normal custody schedule during the off season.

If we got that same judge again… fucking hell.

And wasn’t it just my luck that for all Bryan hated being at the mercy of the hockey schedule, he had a serious thing for hockey players. Now he was quite openly dating one of my teammates—something the tabloids and social media were having a ball with.

Fuck my life.

How the hell did he even still have a libido? Because mine had been dead and gone for months before I’d finally dropped the hammer on the divorce. I couldn’t even jerk off these days, while he was sending my teammate to games and practices with a very smug smile on his stupid fucking face.

And now he wants our kids to be with him—with them— all the time? Over my dead body.

Of course he could’ve brought this up at any time during the off season. Any time during the past few goddamned months. But no, he’d waited until I was almost walking out the door to training camp to drop this bomb on me.

Probably because he knew I wouldn’t be able to line someone up in time, so his petition for full custody would be a slam dunk.

Were you always this underhanded and conniving? What the hell?

The more pressing question, though, was what was I supposed to do?

It had taken me until the twins were two to be comfortable leaving them with their grandparents overnight.

They were six now, and I still didn’t like the idea of anyone other than a relative or close friend watching them.

Now I was supposed to… what? Hire someone, then leave them alone with the boys for hours and hours while I went to training camp?

And for days at a time while I was on road trips?

I rubbed my eyes. Then I snatched my phone off the counter. I was on a private group chat with several friends from back home who I trusted not to leak screencaps and whatnot. Even if they didn’t have a solution, they’d let me vent and bitch.

I don’t suppose any of you know someone who’s vetted and trustworthy that I can fly out here on a moment’s notice to be a live-in nanny or something, do you?

God, just reading that was depressing. How was this my life all of a sudden?

The responses started quickly.

Mike: Are you serious, or is your autocorrect fucking with all of us?

LOL Serious unfortunately. TL;DR, ex is being an ass.

Don: What else is new? He’s always been an ass.

Now you tell me.

Jake: You have always been a slow learner.

(middle finger emoji)

Don: So you need someone to watch the kids while you’re on the road or something?

If I want to keep joint custody, yeah.

Jake: No shit? He’s going to try for full custody over it? What a dick.

Mike: Ouch, that’s brutal.

Tell me about it.

Jake: Actually, I might know someone. Got a minute to FaceTime?

Absolutely. Thanks, man.

Seconds later, the FaceTime request came through, and I accepted the call. “Hey, what’ve you got?”

Jake cut right to the chase: “You remember Cameron Wright, don’t you?”

I blinked. That was a name I hadn’t heard in a while. “Of course I do. Why?”

“Because he’s in a bind right now, too, and you guys might be able to help each other out.”

“I’m listening.”

“Right, so he’ll have to tell you the whole story, but the short version is that he and his ex split, and the guy sabotaged his job, too. So he’s out of a place to live, out of a job, and—man, he’s really fucking desperate right now.”

“Oh, shit. I’ll, um… Yeah, I can reach out to him.

” I paused and flipped to my contacts. Cam was still there, of course, but there were no texts.

No calls. Not since I’d upgraded my phone, and probably not since two or three phones before that.

I was horrified and a bit embarrassed to realize just how long it had been since Cam and I had talked.

“I, um… I don’t know if I have his current number. ”

“He hasn’t changed it since before he moved to Portland, but hold on.” Jake furrowed his brow at his screen, probably perusing his own contacts. He read off the number he had for Cam, and it did indeed match the one I had.

“Okay, great. I’ll give him a call. Thanks, man!”

“Any time.”

We ended the call, and I gnawed my lip as I peered at Cam’s contact.

He and I had never had any kind of falling out; we’d just sort of drifted apart as life took us in opposite directions.

I’d tried to reconnect a few times, especially when I was back on the West Coast for a visit, but we always missed each other.

He hadn’t been able to come to my wedding, though he’d sent a really nice gift and a thoughtful card. Otherwise, we hadn’t had much contact.

Though we hadn’t spoken to or seen each other in a few years, I’d heard about him through the grapevine. Last I knew, he was working as a personal trainer, and if memory served, they had to have all kinds of CPR certifications and things like that. He’d always been good with kids, too.

I tapped the corner of my phone on the counter.

Would it be weird if I reached out to him?

I didn’t think it would. Yeah, we’d dated for most of our sophomore and junior years in high school, back before I’d figured out I was gay and before he’d figured out he was a boy.

We’d lost our virginities to each other.

We’d done a lot of our adolescent experimenting together.

Both the sex and the relationship had been awkward and weird because we’d been young and stupid, though I wouldn’t have called either of them bad.

Just… young and stupid. Na?ve, more than anything.

Fortunately, we’d also broken up without any major drama.

As we’d started figuring out our identities, we’d both become seriously introspective, and we’d grown apart as boyfriend and girlfriend.

Eventually, we’d realized we were better off as friends.

Nothing nasty. Nothing we hadn’t been able to come back from.

We were just growing up and growing apart, and we’d stayed friends until our lives had gone in separate directions.

Now, when I desperately needed someone’s help, it turned out he was in a similar situation. If I could get in touch with him, maybe we could help each other out.

Admittedly, I liked the idea of hiring him. In fact, I was relieved at the prospect of possibly bringing him to Pittsburgh to watch my kids, and not just because it would fix this crisis my ex had created. I’d always trusted Cam. I knew he was good people.

And what could I say? I missed him. The years I’d gone without even seeing him suddenly weighed on my shoulders, and I wondered how the hell I’d let that happen.

Losing touch with people wasn’t unusual for those of us on the pro hockey trajectory—it was all-consuming, and trying to break into the majors was a long, arduous process.

I’d left more than a few friends behind just because I’d been too focused on hockey to maintain the friendships, and I regretted that.

I especially regretted leaving behind Cam Wright.

Cam Wright, who was now in a bind at the same time I was desperate for someone to look after my kids so I didn’t lose custody.

Well, hell.

Maybe my ex’s bullshit ultimatum would be a blessing in disguise after all.